


Perchance to Dream

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-10
Updated: 2003-08-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:01:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll sleep, escape, for just a short while, and when he wakes up, there will be more champagne and islands to explore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance to Dream

## Perchance to Dream

by SkaterBoy

<http://www.livejournal.com/~edgecity>

* * *

Title: Perchance to Dream  
Category: Angst, Drama, Episode-Related Spoilers for: Exodus  
Rating: R for theme  
Pairing: Clark/Lex implied, Lex/other  
Summary: He'll sleep, escape, for just a short while, and when he wakes up, there will be more champagne and islands to explore. 

* * *

Many thanks to my fabulous betas for helping to make this piece even better! 

Disclaimer: Lex, Clark, and the other _Smallville_ characters do not belong to me. I am merely borrowing them for a short while to create this figment of my imagination. I'm not making any profit! This is merely for my own enjoyment. 

* * *

*To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them?* 

To be married without a best man is not the greatest tragedy. It is a great enough tragedy that Lex worries, as his best man is his _best_ man, his best friend, his only friend, sickeningly clear that his only friend is not here when he gets married, and not even his soon-to-be-wife does he consider a friend. 

Then Clark's parents are gone, too, more worried about Clark than Lex is allowed to be, and he gets married without his best man, to a woman who is at best his ally and at worst, his father's ally. Doubt still tapping him on the shoulder, only for him to look for the source of the tap and see that it has moved away; perhaps that meeting was _not_ what Helen said it was, for why would Lionel offer Helen one hundred thousand dollars to leave him and then offer the company jet for their honeymoon, despite the fact that he wasn't even invited to the wedding? 

But as he has told Clark many, many times, his relationship with his father is a complicated one, and as many times as Lionel has betrayed him, it has never been to the point of physical harm. He and Helen accepted the wedding gift with grace and now he is married, sans reception and sans best man, climbing into the LuthorCorp jet to put Smallville behind them. He is finished with fighting, he is finished with challenging, and, with any type of luck, this will be the last time he runs away. 

* * *

*To die: to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to? 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; to sleep: To sleep, perchance to dream.* 

"Lex, would you like something to drink?" Apparently airsickness isn't enough, his wife has to be sickening sweet, but it makes champagne sound like a very good thing right now. Maybe it won't mix well with the dramamine, but anything is better than his stomach being in limbo, somewhere between his throat and his ears. 

Body memory takes him back fourteen years and he's in the shaky helicopter, chaotic instead of this smooth slice through the heavens. Approaching Smallville instead of escaping it, whir of blades that signal arrival to what would be his first near-death experience. Smallville is a death trap, always has been, and he's finally leaving it. Doesn't know why he forewent the invitation to return to Metropolis last year (of course it had nothing to do with Clark's hesitant admission that he wanted Lex to stay), except for the fact that he wanted to spite Lionel. *You threw me into this snake pit, and now that I've charmed them all, you want me as a colleague instead of competition. It doesn't work like that,* father, _and even Indiana Jones got over his fear of snakes._

Helen's chatting with the crew, the champagne is cool in his hand, and maybe a marriage of convenience isn't such a bad thing after all. So long as Helen conveniently has a headache for the next two weeks, because isn't _that_ a consummation devoutly _not_ to be wished. Helen glances over and smiles at him, and Lex smiles back, wondering when his eyelids dropped to half-mast and why his stomach has decided to stay where it belongs. He's getting drowsy, and maybe that's not such a bad thing. 

Exhaustion is clearly inhibiting his ability to think original thoughts, so Lex leans back in the seat and lets his eyes drift shut. The sound of the plane's engine is soothing, now, and Lex shuts off the rest of his body, letting the flute clink onto the table that's bolted into the floor. He'll sleep, escape, for just a short while, and when he wakes up, there will be more champagne and islands to explore. 

* * *

*Ay, there's the rub;   
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: there's the respect That makes calamity of so long life.* 

He wakes up to vertigo, a sense of wrongness before he even opens his eyes. Darkness pushes through the windows and it could be either the night sky or the ocean, depending on whether they are really moving as fast as it feels. He is greeted with an empty cabin, oxygen masks dangling ominously as he makes his way to the front of the plane; empty cockpit. The crew and Helen are gone, disappeared, and this isn't supposed to be happening, right? 

Controls sabotaged, wires and cords dangling from the vandalized ceiling and Lex realizes with a bitter laugh that he doesn't know how to fly a plane. The Indiana Jones analogy still stands, a man who could get in the air but not land the plane; not that it matters, because there doesn't appear to be solid earth on which to land. They're - no, not they're, because he's the only one still in the plane - he and the plane are careening toward the ocean, probably Atlantic, although at this point the distinction is unimportant. The engine whines in protest, the wires flap ominously against the wall, and... it's life or death. 

Not being new to near-death experiences, Lex feels calm, is able to focus his energies on analyzing the past few hours, try to figure out how he got here. His mind flickers first to Helen's smile when she poured his drink, and he'd _thought_ it was sincere, hadn't he? Although - he grew tired very quickly after drinking, and this wouldn't be the first time he'd been exposed to a poisoned drink. Of course, he would be the recipient this time if it were true, but he couldn't imagine why Helen would want to kill him. Except, of course, for his money, and black widows were certainly the new gray in Smallville, weren't they? 

Speculation is cut short by an impact that pushed the air from his lungs, followed not long after by implosion of the windows. He's vaguely aware of pain, yes, and the fact that sharks are drawn to the scent of blood, wounded prey that is easier to kill and more disposable than a healthy, intact specimen. Strange thing that he'd been chum once before, only his father had been in the cage with him, but the whale's belly in which he now resides can hardly be considered a protective cage. 

Pain and darkness prevail, and Lex waits for something to take him. Life, death, the wing of the plane, Smallville's own hero reaching out to save him. His faith is rewarded when a strong hand grips his wrist, pulls him up and out of the water, and salt-air stings his lungs and shredding flesh. He is too weak to thank his savior, but Lex knows who it is, if not how Clark managed it. 

Clark always saves him. 

* * *

*For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make, With a bare bodkin?* 

He awakes, again, only this time he is in his own bed - the penthouse, because the sheets are thicker here, and the air is thinner so many floors up. He feels eyes on him, watching him, and he sends Clark a smile, rolling his head to the side before his eyelids part. 

"How are you feeling?" It is neither the voice nor the face he expects, and he wonders when Helen became so strong. He remembers the firm grip pulling him to the surface, kicking waves down into the depths and surely, that could not have been Helen? 

Still, she is his wife, and he is alive, and that is a thing for which he should, perhaps, be grateful. "Surprisingly well," he says honestly, because despite being the victim of a plane crash at sea, he feels no pain, no stiffness, not the vaguest sense of soreness. This could be contributed to the amount of time he has been unconscious and Helen's undeniable skill as a competent doctor. If nothing else, he has proof of his body's ability to heal, and meteor mutation has never been such an appreciated thing. 

And yet, the issue of sabotage remains. He is loathe to suspect Helen of attempted murder if she has just saved his life; other potential perpetrators must be considered, while keeping the possibility of Helen's other motives in mind. 

"Are you thirsty?" Drink could be the reason he's here to begin with, but he _is_ thirsty and when has death frightened him? Thoughts of mutiny are temporarily set aside in favor of recumbence; this will be the last chance he has for rest, as once he recovers, his new mission will not be corporate takeover, but of solving this mystery of his planned demise. 

He accepts a bottle of water and stares at a painting on the opposite wall, not seeing it, seeing only the LuthorCorp logo on the side of the jet. A gift of death for his wedding day? 

Stranger things have happened. 

* * *

*Who would fardels bear,  
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,  
But that the dread of something after death - The undiscover'd country from whose bourn No traveller returns - puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to other that we know not of?* 

Helen offers knowledge and provides power of questionable caliber; Lex listens to what she says, watches the security tapes and determines that there is, indeed, a conspiracy, and his life was the target. If she is to be believed, then Lucas is the instigator in all this, jealous of Lex's reign in his land of exile, but Lionel has no little part in it as well. They speak the truth, those who say that power and greed corrupt, and Helen is looking less innocent than she ought to be. 

Smallville does not welcome his return, nor do they seem enthused by Helen's reappearance. Stares follow them wherever they go, although they spend most of their time in the mansion, and Lex watches the looping security tapes again and again, hoping for a clue of manipulation or extraction. His one-time obsession with learning Clark's secret falls prey to the falcon of this new mystery, and he nearly forgets about wrecked Porsches and eight-sided paperweights. That is, until he absently reaches into his pocket, and feels the familiar metallic weight of the key. 

The room is as much a shrine as it is a laboratory; the line between objectivity and subjectivity has always been blurred for Lex. The walk is too long, the corridors too empty; staff dismissed, says Helen, when they discovered that his plane was missing. Hollow echo of his shoes against the floorboards, tap, shift, door before him. The key to all of Clark's secrets, right here, and all he needs to do is unlock the door. 

Only... the key doesn't fit the lock. It's possible that the key he had in his pocket is the wrong one. Perplexed, he tries again, but the key refuses to slide in, and the doorknob is cool to the touch. He turns and Helen is standing there, down the hallway, watching him with a slight smile on her face. 

"Skeleton key," she allows, reminding him of the key he gave her that opened to all the rooms except for this one. Lex nods, and turns from the door, deciding to leave this mystery for one with which he has become increasingly familiar. "Did you ever tell Clark about the room?" 

Brief shake of his head, because his mind is elsewhere, on half-brothers who plot and fathers who preside over invisible kingdoms. He is struck with the memory of confessing to Clark the first time, admitting that he had researched him and Clark's easy, too easy, forgiveness. Before leaving he confessed to Clark about Helen, but he never apologized to Helen for betraying her, and perhaps things ought to be set right. The enemy may feel less threatened if they are confided in. 

"I should," he says, forgetting the problem of lineage. Clark will be easily found - barn loft, the space of a road and a ladder - Lionel and Lucas less so. But when he steps forward, Helen shakes her head, as though divining his destination. 

"Clark is missing," she informs him, and Lex cannot be surprised. Clark did not find him, but he can find Clark. Smallville will not miss him. 

Somehow, they always manage to find each other. 

* * *

*Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution  
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment With this regard their current turn awry, And lose the name of action.* 

Months later Lex has not encountered Clark, nor Lionel, nor Lucas. Helen is a beacon by his side, suggesting, planning, encouraging. Lex is beginning to believe that he misjudged her after all, and betrayal was not her plan. 

After one particularly long day of searching, Helen seems to sense his exhaustion. More than physically, he is drained, lost, misunderstanding this sea of faces that are not the ones he seeks. And Helen, in her quiet way, leads him to a cemetery in Metropolis, and to the tomb of his mother. 

When he was younger, Lex would come here often to visit, to share the trials and tribulations of being his father's son. This place has always brought him peace and clarity, if only for short periods of time, and it is what he needs now. As he approaches the tomb, he sees a figure standing there, hunched in front of Lillian Luthor's final resting place. 

"They found the plane today," Clark says, and Lex is frozen to the spot. He cannot speak, cannot tell Clark that he is here. All is silent, except for Clark's near-silent mutterings. Clark ends with a final whisper, looking at the ground, "Shouldn't have married her." 

Lex moves forward to defend Helen, but Helen's hand is on his shoulder, showing him to let Clark go. Lex pushes past her, and stands in front of the tomb, but Clark doesn't look at him, just shakes his head at the ground and turns to walk away. "Clark." 

"You shouldn't have left." That is his only answer, and Clark disappears into the fog. Lex turns, disbelieving, stares down at his mother's tomb. He traces his fingers over the letters of her name, the inscription, the years of her birth and death. As his fingers trail down the marble, new markings greet his fingertips, and Lex stumbles backward. 

It can't be. There is clearly some mistake, because - _Beloved Son and Brother_ \- he can't be dead. 1980 - 2003, it reads, just below his name. Alexander Joseph Luthor, eternalized in gray marble. Helen standing over his shoulder, silent, a guardian. 

"It's time to go." An unwanted hand is offered; Lex pushes himself to his feet and chases after Clark. 

"I'm sorry!" he yells into the darkness, amazed that he has managed to turn onto the same street Clark walks. "I didn't want to leave. I should have stayed!" His shouts fall on deaf ears, and it is at this moment that Lex realizes - the fog does not stir in the wake of his breath. All is still. The leaves do not crunch under his feet, and Helen... looks sad. 

"It's time," she repeats. Lex doesn't listen. 

* * *

(epilogue) 

The changes occur on the return trip to Smallville. They are small, at first; his clothing wrinkles uncomfortably, and each time he looks down there is another tear. His shoes are soaked through, fine leather shrinking and molding to his feet, a throbbing pressure in his forehead. Helen says she will give him proof, but Lex does not want it; denial is something he has always done well. 

He follows, confused, as Helen approaches the laboratory where he'd been studying everything that had to do with Clark and the Kents. As they approach the final hallway, he is astounded by what he sees. 

The door is gone. Where once he would have prepared to enter the room - he knows because of the heavier treads here on the floor - there is a wall, a door-shaped seam interrupting the hallway. Completely gone and it starts to sink in, why the key did not work, why... 

Why Clark did not hear him. 

Lex looks down at himself and sees destroyed Armani, bruised, bloody skin, and feels the flesh on his bones start to writhe. Most importantly, though, is the blade from the airplane, sharp as a sword and necessarily as deadly, bisecting his torso, pushing straight through his heart. Maybe that's why he hasn't felt it until now. Maybe he really never had a heart after all. 

Denial has never gone so far, to the point that he convinced himself he was still alive; even as his mind churns, his body weakens, but his strength returns with Helen's touch. 

"We can't wait any longer, Lex. It's time for us to go." 

Lex nods, and takes her hand. 

* * *

Author's Note: I used the theme from  <u>The Sixth Sense</u>, but I did not want to give a disclaimer at the beginning of the story and give away the ending. 


End file.
